


The This Picture is Worth a Few Words Affair

by elmey



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Angst, Drama, Ficlet, Humor, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-17
Updated: 2011-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-15 17:45:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elmey/pseuds/elmey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three ficlets:  Longings, Lies & Zeitgeist.  They were written for Valentine's Day so they're about love.  Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ficlets written for the 2k11 Valentine's Day picture prompt challenge at MFU Yum Daily.

Written for utopiantrunks

 

  
[   
](https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/qrgAbpM5Iry9Iry7Ti3pTWzrBJaEYaT2Rqsc0ZpYLZc?feat=embedwebsite)   


 

 _I remember the gleams and glooms that dart  
Across the schoolboy's brain;  
The song and the silence in the heart,  
That in part are prophecies, and in part  
Are longings wild and vain._  
\---Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

 **LONGINGS**

Fragments of sound came through the speaker Napoleon was leaning on. Street sound: voices, a bamboo wind chime, traffic, a trilling finch, sandals slapping on wood; the everyday clatter of Hong Kong. It would take Bernie twenty minutes to reach the Dragon's Tooth on foot, then, if things went well, the woman he'd meet there would tell him what they wanted to know. For now, there was nothing for Napoleon to do but wait and listen...and idly watch Illya play mah jong with Jade.

 

"The devil finds work for idle hands ", he remembered his grandmother scolding when she'd find him sitting on the old wooden stairs going down to the beach, staring with dreaming eyes at the ocean, chores forgotten.

"What about an idle mind?", Napoleon would ask her with a smile once he was old enough to know he could charm her.

She would look at him and shake her head. "You're going to end up just like your grandfather" she would say ruefully. But then she'd sit down next to him to tell him stories of love and adventure.

 

Illya's hands were never idle, Napoleon thought. Even when he was still, his hands were whispering if you knew to listen; slight movements revealing things that his countenance never showed. He found himself unexpectedly charmed by the look of concentration he now saw on his partner's face, tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips as his thumb absentmindedly stroked the tile in his hands.

Jade reached in to straighten one of her pieces just as Illya decided to place his, and their fingers touched. Napoleon watched the girl's color rise and the look she gave his not quite oblivious partner from under her lashes.

 

Her robe would be crimson, he decided, crimson with white chrysanthemums, sliding loosely from her shoulders. They would be kneeling, facing each other and Illya would gently push the fabric down her arms, revealing skin the color of old ivory, as smooth and cool as the mah jong tiles, smelling faintly of Peonies. It would flush and warm when he cupped her breasts in his hands. Then Illya would lower his head to taste her, and she would bend her neck and the black silk of her hair would cover the blond satin of his. Illya's hands would move to her waist...

...and suddenly Napoleon could feel the touch of those hands, large and warm and sure on _his_ skin, and it was _he_ and Illya who were thigh to thigh, chest to hard chest, mouth plundering mouth, their cocks trapped between them, brushing against each other with exquisite friction. And Illya's hands were sliding lower now, pulling their bodies closer together, so close that all he could feel between them was heat; pulsing heat, hard heat, a fire ready to explode. Napoleon could feel his heart pounding in double time, louder and louder, so loud that it rang through the room, so loud that...

The speaker crackled and Napoleon came to himself with a guilty start. His partner and Jade never looked up, still intent on their game. The street sounds were gone, and a dull thump in double time was playing counterpoint to the sounds of the Dragon's Tooth. "Do you hear that odd noise in the background?" he asked.

"That's Bernie's heart", Illya answered.

"Perhaps he's scared", Napoleon said, more to himself than the others.

"No", Illya shook his head as they heard a woman's voice ring out above the heartbeats. "He has met his heart's desire". With a small smile he turned back to his game. Napoleon stared at him, and felt the world tilt on its axis.


	2. Chapter 2

Written for saki101

 

  
[   
](https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/eBYqMrqisFdNMPwK92bpkWzrBJaEYaT2Rqsc0ZpYLZc?feat=embedwebsite)   


 

 _All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware._  
\--– Martin Buber

 

 **LIES**

 

Napoleon's first partner was a grizzled Acadian, skills picked up in foreign wars not Survival School; superstitious, still wooing the luck he was convinced would betray him. On a dull stakeout in Bangor, he pulled a string out of his pocket and offered to teach his partner how to play cat's cradle. "It's a child's game", Napoleon protested, incredulous. "A girl's game."

"It's an old game," Lanois answered with a shrug. "It passes the time." An hour later, he twisted the string from Napoleon's hands and formed the perfect clock. "And if you know more about it than your opponent, you can choose when to end it", he said with a sly sideways glance.

"I prefer other games", Napoleon said pleasantly but he learned and he remembered.

On a whim, he tried to teach the Russian trapped with him in a snowstorm in a herdsman's hut in the Pyrenees, both of them bored and hungry. Kuryakin scowled and shook his head.

"I don't play games, Mr. Solo", he said.

Of course that was a lie.

 

  
**~~~~~**   


 

Napoleon looked down at his sitting partner and smiled. Illya raised his head and met his eyes, then looked away again, and played with his ring. _Almost_ as though he were shy. He's learned to play this game well, Napoleon thought, but he still hides from the desire that drives it, unsure of how he wants this to end.

That too was a lie.

 

  
**~~~~~**   


 

He stood behind Illya, unbuckled the shoulder holster and helped him remove it, then stroked the leather, still warm and pliable from the heat of Illya's body. Napoleon massaged his partner's shoulder lightly where the marks left by the weight of the gun would be. He could smell the faint scent of the starched white shirt, and the even fainter scent of soap and gunpowder, vodka and winter, as he bent down to kiss the nape of Illya's neck.

Illya unbuttoned his shirt slowly, a small secret smile on his face as Napoleon's arms came around him. Today they were _both_ strangers traveling an unknown land. There was no game, there were no rules, neither knew the final destination.

But there would be no more lies.


	3. Chapter 3

Written for vivic 08

 

[ ](https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/dxcKYF9HKCt0J5cGhXZ4iGzrBJaEYaT2Rqsc0ZpYLZc?feat=embedwebsite)

 

 _All the world's a stage...._

 

 **ZEITGEIST**

 

Illya gave his partner a considering look. "What was that? That was hardly a vintage Solo move."

Napoleon watched the girls go, looking thoughtful. "They're so young, they seem to be from another world. "

"It looked to me like you weren't trying very hard."

Napoleon shrugged. "Maybe I wasn't. I wonder sometimes... "

Illya arched an eyebrow.

"...if my approach is growing a bit dated."

Illya clapped him on the shoulder. " A bit of over the top flattery, a dollop of braggadocio--the Solo charm will never grow old."

"The student look suits you", Napoleon said, "you look as young as you did on the day that I met you."

Illya rolled his eyes. "I didn't say it would work on me."

"Now _that's_ something that will never change," Napoleon laughed and they left Blair College behind.

~~~~~

 

Three days later, comfortably settled on his own familiar couch, Illya was in a mellow mood. He and Napoleon had gone out to dinner and gratifyingly, for no reason that he could see, his partner had picked up the check. The evening was far enough advanced now that Illya had jettisoned his glass and was cradling the almost empty bottle of vodka in his arms, his stockinged feet propped on the coffee table, his head leaning against the back of the sofa, his eyes closed. Which was why he missed the calculating look Napoleon gave him as he poured himself another two fingers of scotch and then sat down next to him.

"I meant what I said a few days ago. The student look suits you, you fit in."

"I know how to blend in Napoleon, I don't _fit_ in at all."

"I suppose neither one of us does really", Napoleon said, thoughtfully twirling the liquor in his glass. "Still, you have a sense of what's going on with the modern generation."

Illya opened his eyes to squint at him. "Developed a sudden thing for college girls, have you?"

"In our position, it doesn't hurt to keep up with the times", Napoleon said airily.

Illya's answer was a noncommittal _"mmmm"_ as he took another swig from his bottle.

Napoleon inched a little closer. "You know I was thinking. Perhaps I do need to practice a new approach."

One of Illya's eyebrows rose, expressing his skepticism better than anything he could have said.

"And since I'm here, and since you're more in touch with the _zeitgeist..."_

The other eyebrow joined the first, expressing complete incredulity now. "Are you suggesting that I let you practice your lines on me?"

"It will be like rehearsing a play. You like Shakespeare don't you?"

Illya sat up, his feeling of comfort gone. He looked at Napoleon suspiciously. "I don't see what Shakespeare has to do with...."

"You were in the Amateur Dramatic Club at Cambridge."

"What if I was?" Illya asked with a touch of belligerence.

"This is, you know, like ah, Orlando practicing with Rosalind."

"Napoleon. I am _not_ your Rosalind."

"Why not", Napoleon asked, maddeningly reasonable. "You played the part at Cambridge."

"I never told you anything like...." Illya said then stopped. "Slate!" he almost hissed the word.

"What can it hurt," Napoleon wheedled, "it's just for practice."

"No", said Illya. "Definitely not."

Napoleon edged closer and reached out to take a lock of Illya's hair between his fingers. "Minerva seemed to like it when I played with her hair."

"Napoleon." Illya growled a warning.

"Yours is nicer", Napoleon said, smiling engagingly.

Illya gaped at him. "Napoleon..." he started, but something in his partner's eyes gave him pause. They held the same devil-may-care manic gleam Napoleon had before his maddest starts in the field. Illya blinked; wondered. He could feel a sudden charge in the air and as always, it sparked an answering madness in him. He took another swig from his bottle as Napoleon inched even closer. He carefully put it down on the table. "I must be mad" he muttered to himself, "or drunk."

"Russians don't get drunk on vodka" Napoleon pointed out. "But I did hear that madness runs in your family."

Illya's lips twitched. "Alright, alright. But I'm warning you...." He thought a moment, then just to make sure, he took his glasses from his shirt pocket and put them on before turning back to Napoleon. He opened his arms. _"Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humour and like enought to consent. What would you say to me now, an I were your very Rosalind?"_

Napoleon tilted his head thoughtfully. _"I would kiss before I spoke."_

Illya stared at him.

"It's the next line of the play," Napoleon said helpfully, looking him right in the eye.

They were sitting so close now that their thighs were pressed together, their noses almost touching. Heat flared between them as they looked at each other, and both men caught their breath. Slowly, Napoleon raised his hand to brush back the unruly hair over Illya's forehead. Then he removed Illya's glasses, folded them and put them back into his partner's shirt pocket.

"You don't need those to see where this is going", he said.

Illya allowed himself a smile before he pounced.


End file.
